


Allotropes of Carbon

by leafchron



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, Mutual Masturbation, Smut, abuse of chemistry metaphor, as at 1x07, bughead - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-20
Updated: 2017-03-20
Packaged: 2018-10-07 19:31:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10367787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leafchron/pseuds/leafchron
Summary: The same carbon atoms, depending on its configuration, can form diamond, or graphite.OrBetty is very good at chemistry.





	

In chemistry class she learns that the same carbon atoms, depending on its configuration, can form diamond, with strong covalent bonds, high melting point, its seeming impenetrability, its abrasiveness, its ability to catch any light and reflecting it, the hardest known natural mineral. Or, shift the same carbon atoms around, arrange them differently in space, and it becomes graphite, conductor of electricity, an excellent lubricant, light, reactive, brittle, flexible and easily mouldable, soft. Two allotropes of carbon, both giant covalent structures, different properties, but of the same carbon atoms.

She plays with the plastic diamond atom model idly, breaking it down into its atom parts, and rebuilding them into a graphite model, all the while watching Jughead out of the corner of her eye. Jughead, who isn’t even pretending to work on the model, but scribbling in his notebook in a way she’s sure has nothing to do with chemistry. He lifts his head occasionally, observing everyone, face impassively blank, eyes sharp and hard.

She wonders what goes on in that brain of his.

He turns in her direction abruptly, meeting her eyes, and smiles as though he can’t help it, as though the smile had overtaken him, without warning and utterly. It’s just a quirk of his lips, but it creeps all the way into his eyes, creases his eyes.

He’d taught her how to spot a real smile, a _‘Duchenne smile’_ , he’d called it. _Look for what people call the laugh lines at the corner of eyes,_ he’d said. _People can’t fake those, can’t control it. The crinkle of the eyes. It’s what makes up a genuine smile. A fake smile is only the mouth._

 _Don’t trust,_ he’d drawled, sardonically, _all that comes from the mouth. The truth runs much deeper, comes from a much deeper well._

Oh Jughead, she thinks. If you teach me all these secrets, you won’t be able to hide yours from me anymore.

Much later she thinks maybe that’s precisely his point, whether consciously or not, that he is teaching her the cipher to decipher his heart.

She knows he is watching her as she rearranges the atoms in her hands, knows what she is doing. From hard and abrasive, to soft and amenable. Impenetrable, and brittle.

When she looks up his expression is unreadable, caught exactly in-between two expressions she can’t tell what they are. She smiles back at him, eyes crinkling.

**

When he kisses her everything is soft. His hands cupping her face, his lips on hers, his thumb stroking her skin, his fingers as he gently pulls her hair tie off, his hair as she teases his beanie off, his eyes when he finally opens them with a shuddering breath, the corners of his mouth, the edges of her vision when he kisses her senseless until everything else fades away.

The only thing that’s hard is between his legs, when he shifts slightly and it brushes against her thigh, rock hard.

It was only kissing, she thinks, amused.

Embarrassment spreads over his face and he makes to move away; she stills him with her palm over his hip.

 _Let me,_ she breathes against his ear, hand finding the zip of his jeans, undoing it slowly, undoing him just as slowly. When he looks at her his pupils are blown, he licks his lips, and his eyes are full of awe, of wonder, gazing at her like she’s the most amazing thing to land in his lap.

When she gets her hand around him his skin is impossibly soft, and she gets him to show her just how he likes it. As she does the same his defences melt away, he’s just staring at her, gasping her name in little breaths, biting his lip. His face is the most naked she’d ever seen, stripped away of all his shields. She imagines his atoms shifting, re-arranging themselves, from impenetrable, to softness as she runs her hand up and down him, a smooth twist at the end that draws a ragged breath from him.

He digs his fingers into her pillow, eyes going unfocused, losing their penetrating stare. When he comes she imagines he’s conducting all the electricity through him and throwing it back out, going supernova, the diamond cracked open.

It makes her aware of much she wants him to unpeel her open and take her apart, as well.

When he has recovered enough he kisses her chastely. Then he grins at her. _I’m sorry, milady, I should’ve attended to you first. I’m sorry to have kept you waiting._

She is worried for a moment that once he had come, once he was done, he would strap his armour back on, turn on his shields, twist his atoms back into the diamond structure. But he is still open, his eyes still soft as his hand slide between her thighs.

They remain soft throughout it all; he keeps watching her, not critically, but full of concern, asking if it was okay every few beats and did she like it, anxious to catch any bit of discomfort or unease from her. When he brings her previously unexperienced shocks of intense pleasure and she digs her fingers into his arm with a moan she couldn’t hold back, his smile is not a smirk, but of relief, and when he pulls her closer with his other free arm and presses his lips to her temple, his lips are soft, too. His eyes are soft and full of adoration when she comes, her world blinding white hot for endless seconds, and he might’ve been murmuring something about love, softly, rushing straight to her heart, bypassing all other organs.

**

It is a pedestrian day, it would’ve been a pedestrian day, if not for the guy, of Cheryl’s posse, of the football team, who intentionally bumps into her as she’s walking down the hallway at the end of school and sneers _crazy, psychotic bitch_ at her.

 She’s too shocked to react, but not Jughead. Not Jughead, who’d been holding her hand, trying to make her laugh, his face soft with delight when he succeeded. Not Jughead, who in every other similar situation pertaining to him would just roll his eyes and walk away, at most toss a casual, caustic comeback and saunter away, but never getting physically involved. Not Jughead, who inserts himself between her and the guy at once, creating a shield rock hard, and smiles at him, a hard, bright smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, _Touch her, talk to her that way again, and I will ensure your expulsion back to the historical period you are most suited for, Neanderthal._

The few seconds the guy takes to figure out the insult is the few seconds that stills his clenched fist from landing on Jughead’s face, and is the few seconds she utilises to grab Jughead’s hand and swiftly pulls him out of the scene, out of his would-be attacker’s sight, and out of school completely. He is still radiating waves of icy flames, refracting all light, core of cold mineral.

They’re at Pop’s when Jughead finally huffs wryly, _I wouldn’t have minded, if he had._

She makes a show of shrugging, dipping her fry in ketchup casually. _Would’ve been a shame if he messed up your pretty face. I prefer it the way it is, and I’m the one who has to look at it._

He lets out a peal of uncontrollable laughter, and looks at her like she is a miracle, again.

She wonders if that’s how she looks, when she’s looking at him, when she thinks he can’t see her.

He reaches across the table and gently takes her free hand, running his thumb over her knuckles.

And reaches out to grab the fry from her other hand when she’s distracted looking down at their joined hands, popping her fry into his mouth at once, smirking merrily at her look of surprised outrage.

It is not that she needs a guy to stand up for her, of course, she’s done well by herself for so many years, she’s more than capable of taking care of herself. She can harden her own armour, her own sword, when needed. It is not necessary.

It’s just nice. To have her own diamond plated shield, diamond tipped spear.

As Jughead steals her fries with all the nonchalance he can muster, she thinks. He is her diamond. He is her rock.

Granted, a fry-stealing rock.

**

Her mind is spiralling down many pathways, all of them void of light. How had she not known. How had she not noticed. How had he survived so far.

Why had he not told her.

It’s so easy to let any of them led her down the rabbit hole of her mind’s abyss, but she catches sight of him, and his eyebags. Those eyebags that seemed so prominent, now.

She firmly stomps down on all the runaway trains of thought, and concentrates on the feel of his hand in hers, as she leads him to her house, through her house and into her bedroom. Where she locks the door and for good measure, shoves her vanity behind the door as well.

She makes him sit on her bed. He looks so exhausted, so brittle, if she prodded him with her finger he would’ve fallen over, shattered into a million pieces on her bedroom floor. She crawls into her bed, sitting against her headboard and gently tugs him up next to her. He allows himself to be manoeuvred by her he is so, so malleable.

It becomes starkly obvious he is using every last ounce of his strength to keep himself together, to keep himself from flying off, clinging onto the last shreds of maintaining his façade, preventing a complete disintegration back into atoms.

Even if he became carbon atoms she would piece him atom by atom, bonding each atom together by hand, rebuilding his structure, whether tetrahedral or hexagonal. It took a lot of heat to melt either graphite or diamond, but even if she can’t keep the flames away from him, even if he is reduced to carbon ashes, she would still find his atoms, and put him back together again. Stronger than before. She’s excellent at chemistry, after all. She always gets As.

She put her arms around him, and after an agonising hesitation he finally buries his face into the crook of her neck, his arms coming tentatively around her waist. He doesn’t cry, unshed tears gathering around his eyes. She rests her chin on the top of his head, tightens her arms around him and waits, patiently, feeling him gradually relax, the tension seeping out of him, his body moulding to hers until they were atoms, covalently bonded - the strongest chemical bond, sharing electrons equally.  


End file.
